


For the Nation

by fraufi666



Category: Iron Lady (2011), Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: Aging, Alternate Universe - Politics, Authority Figures, F/F, F/M, One-Sided Attraction, Politics, Rivalry, Romance, Rumours, Sexual Content, Suspense, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 09:17:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5451458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraufi666/pseuds/fraufi666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The need to prove herself as worthy as Prime Minister to the most powerful woman proves to be a difficult task, as Thatcher’s admiration for the Queen develops into something more. Yet after many occasions with the monarch ending with much embarrassment, admiration turns to resentment as the politician decides to compete against her. But will she succeed? Or will this greater admiration reveal itself in the worst possible way?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This story is a historical AU. Although I have used historical figures and some references based from real events, (e.g. Thatcher’s time in power) this is entirely a work of fiction. All romantic encounters, events and insinuations are from my imagination. I mean no disrespect to any of the people depicted. I am also in no way politically biased.

With a look of sheer determination, Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher stared directly into the cameras as she concluded her inaugural speech. Many Tories supporters cheered in the crowd.     

Thatcher raised both hands up proudly, allowing herself the moment to further bask in her victory. Even though she had thought that a woman would never become Prime Minister in her lifetime, she had done it. 

Just as she was about to turn and sit down, the speaker announced that the Queen was going to join her onstage give her personal congratulations. 

Although she had expected that the Queen would be there, she had no idea that she would get a chance to see her so soon. Although she had seemed so confident, her exterior tough and unwavering, her heart was hammering in her chest. A staunch monarchist, Thatcher admired the Queen more than she could bear. She could not disappoint her. 

Standing up straighter, she waited. And there she was. 

In a long, sparkling white dress, the monarch walked slowly up the stairs.  The crowd erupted into an applause, louder this time. There was not a halo or beacon of light around her, but there might as well have been with the way the room responded to her presence. Although the Queen was younger than Thatcher, she had seemed to give the impression of being far more mature and revered by the public. It struck her as odd that she was not the most beautiful woman in the world, yet she still had an air of elegance that she could not measure. There was some jealously as she watched her approach, but tried to push it away. This was her day. 

The first thought that came to her head was to curtsey to her. Before she could stop herself, she was on her knees, curtseying a little too low for the monarch. She looked up, to see just the tinniest hint of approval in the Queen's eyes, but the woman's expression was calm, almost distant. 

Quickly she stood back up. 

"Margaret Hilda Thatcher." Queen Elizabeth II stated formally "I now officially declare you as Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. My congratulations to you." 

"Thank you, your Highness." Thatcher replied immediately, about to get on her knees again. But the Queen knew and managed to stop her. 

"There's no need for that, Margaret." Queen Elizabeth said quietly. 

With some embarrassment, Thatcher quickly regained her composure. As the Queen turned to walk away, the Prime Minister was left with some regret. But above all, she felt slightly perplexed. Even though she had followed the monarch for so long, she knew very little about her. It was difficult to fully know what was going on in the mind of a woman with so much power who did not give much away. Even after the celebration was over, Thatcher lay awake in bed, the scene of her meeting with the Queen still replaying in her mind. She would have done things differently, but there was no use dwelling upon it now. She had to focus on her work as Prime Minister, a job that was not to be taken lightly, as it was for the nation. 


	2. Chapter 2

A few days later, not long after getting the leadership, Thatcher received a letter from the Queen to attend a garden party. She was speechless. This was the perfect opportunity to get more acquainted with her. She had hoped that she could paint a far better impression of herself than the last time she had seen her. 

Thatcher had forgotten all the embarrassment she had felt for the woman until she realised that she would have to spend the day with her again. Quickly, she tried to repress those feelings. It made no sense as to why she was so worked up over something so minor. Nothing had ever affected her this strongly before. Before she was about to figure out why it was bothering her, Denis reentered the room swiftly. 

"What's the news, Maggie? The letter looks really important." He could see the expression of deep concentration that she had always worn when reading alone in her office. 

"The Queen wants us to go to a garden party, Denis. I do not have time for such frivolities. I have to attend a debate in the House of Commons on the same day…"

"Oh come on, Maggie. When has something like this ever stopped you?" He was smiling at her, and cheekily snatched the note from her hands. 

"Denis!"

Dropping the note casually, he grabbed hold of her hands, kissing them. She still looked annoyed at him, but had relaxed slightly. Despite being ten years her senior, her husband behaved like a mischievous younger man. " _Relax_ , Margaret. It looks like fun. You should bring the rest of the family along!"

"I don't think I'd want to drag the twins into something that could be so dull. They're children, Denis. Why would they want to attend some boring garden party? They should only go of their own accord." 

Denis chuckled slightly "Must you talk about our children like you're giving a speech on liberalism? The kids never get to see you at work." 

"It's not work." Thatcher insisted, her gaze bright in the dim light  "It's just a party full of old people to shake hands with. They can listen to me on the wireless if they want to. Now, I really have to get to work." She said, about to get up from the desk. 

"Maggie, it's only two in the morning! Come back to bed.." He tugged at her hand, smiling at her charmingly. "I'll make it worth your while…" he added, in a whisper. His other hand was running over the pussy bow on the neck of her blouse. She hadn't changed out of her clothes from earlier that day. "Come on…" 

The politician slapped his hand, her smile wide. She was getting too amused by her husband's antics "If you continue to be a naughty boy, I'll make you sleep on the couch." Her tone was firm, still in prime-ministerial mode. She stood up and strode over to him, sliding her hands over his shoulders. Purposely, she moved slightly closer to him, running her lips against his as a tease, but not letting him kiss her. Her hand trailed down to his trousers, playing around with the cord. She slipped her fingertips into them, her steely long nails sharp against the pale flesh of his thighs. Denis exhaled sharply, eager for her to continue, but she did not.  "Now _go_ …" She whispered. 

After ten minutes, only then did Thatcher join her husband. They lay in each other's arms peacefully and after such close contact, and she had forgotten about the Queen. That would wait for another day. Tomorrow, in fact.  

The last thing that was on her mind was a figure in white as she closed her eyes tiredly. Her grip on Denis' shoulders tightened as she fought against whatever it was that was threatening to come back into her mind.  She would deal with this more properly tomorrow. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

The sky was a vivid dark cyan, something so unusual for London. It was stifling. Everyone was holding fans and parasols to arm themselves against the scorching heat. Mr and Mrs Thatcher arrived into the crowd shortly after. The Queen was nowhere to be seen, for they were fifteen minutes early. 

"I ought to tell her we are here." Thatcher said, squinting in the brightness. The heat was already beginning to bother her. "She should let us in, since we are important."

"You could try, but she probably won't let me in." Denis replied with some disappointment, "You go. I'll meet you after."

Straight away, the guards recognised her.  

"Prime Minister! It's an honour to meet you." One of them gasped.  

"Thank you. Could you please tell me where the Queen is?" 

"Just upstairs, left door on the end." 

Immediately Thatcher made her way up the stairs stunning everyone she had passed. A maid tried to tell her that the Queen was not ready, but she was walking too quickly to hear her. The palace was so large and remarkable, that she had almost felt lost in it. But equipped with the knowledge that she too, was powerful, she felt all the more entitled to be here.  

Walking up the stairs began to tire her, but nonetheless she continued, hoping to catch the Queen before she had went out to greet everyone else. She had to look punctual and prepared. Once she had reached the door where she thought the Queen was behind, she quickly smoothed her hair before knocking. 

Immediately, the door flung open to reveal a very irritated looking monarch. 

"You are too early." She responded coldly. "Wait outside with the rest of the guests." 

Before Thatcher could protest, she slammed the door directly on her face. 

_Wait outside with the rest of the guests…does she know who I am?_ She thought, feeling extremely offended. Her face was bright red as she made her way down the stairs. One of the guards who saw her before asked her how things were with the Queen but she shot a glare at him which made him shake slightly in vulnerability. If she had to blame someone, it was that reckless guard for ruining her chances of trying to look better for the Queen. Yet all this ended as she reunited with Denis. She would not give up that easily.

"Elizabeth pleased to see you?" Denis asked, 

"She was preoccupied. I barely ever got to exchange two words." Thatcher responded, telling half of the truth. She waved at a few of the people who started to call out to her. Before Denis could inquire her any further everyone in the party started to clap loudly. Thatcher felt glad that at least there were people who supported her, even though the Queen did not care for her. But they were not clapping at her. 

Turning around, the Prime Minister's face fell as she noticed the Queen standing on the balcony in a pale gown, waving at everyone below. While everyone found this humbling, Thatcher found this incredibly insulting. She did not run for the leadership and win only to be treated as a mere civilian. _Why wouldn't she let me up there with her?_ She thought bitterly. 

"Thank you for coming along to this event." The Queen called out "Refreshments will be served shortly." Then, she looked directly into Thatcher's eyes "I will see you in a minute."

So there was still hope! Thatcher felt her pulse race as she realised that perhaps the Queen did want to see her after all. 

 

Against her expectations, the Queen spoke to many of the other people in the audience, not even giving her another look. Thatcher watched her from the shaded other side of the yard, taking a sip of some champagne. She did not want to miss her. Yet other officials tried to talk to her instead. They exchanged their congratulations, their tones cordial and artificial. She did not care for any of them, only of the figure in the gown that was getting more people flocking to her. Annoyed, she turned to Denis to rant, but he was also far too engrossed in a conversation with a former member of the army. She sighed, turning her attention back at the Queen. 

Finally, she had had enough. The Queen was not going to remember her if she did not catch her quick enough. 

"Elizabeth!" She called, trying to thread her way through the crowded yard.  

The Queen turned to look at her, giving her a smile that appeared a little too stiff. 

"Margaret." She replied, not looking all too pleased to see her. She looked at her from head to toe. "I do recall hearing that you used to work in a store when you were young…Grantham…was it?" 

"Yes." Thatcher replied, puzzled as to why the Queen was suddenly so interested in her background. But she smiled slightly, realising that she could use this to her advantage. It was a chance to show off her knowledge and let her know that she was worth talking to, "I've learnt how the market works from first hand at such a young age. Privatisation-"

"Don't you think you should save this sort of talk for Parliament, my dear?" The Queen asked, cutting her off. 

The cheeriness in her demeanour faded quickly. She was once again furious that the Queen was able to change her mood as easily as one would flick a light switch. Before she could utter another word, a gloved hand fell on her shoulder and rested there for a few seconds. Thatcher felt an odd mix of reassurance and discomfort. The strange feeling that she had experienced days before had returned. 

"I'll see you later. There are other guests I must attend to." 

Thatcher was about to reply, but only when the Queen had left, did she realise how how it really was away from the shade. The heat was almost suffocating. Feeling incredibly uncomfortable, she tried to make it back to the shade. Yet between the unbearable heat and the embarrassment with the Queen, it felt as if all her energy had been sapped from her. Self consciously, she wiped away the drips of perspiration from her temple as she tried to walk back to the shade. But it was so tiring. Despite making several steps, the shade was not getting any closer. She wished that she had brought along a parasol. 

Gasping, she clung to the back of one of the chairs nearby. She wanted to call out to Denis, who was still immersed in conversation, but she continued to walk. The last thing she had wanted to do was to alert the attention of all those who thought of her as the most powerful woman of the United Kingdom.

Except, there was another woman. She stood, smiling and chattering at her admirers, oblivious to Thatcher's plight. Oh how cruel did she seem. So uncaring…so cold. But she tried to straighten her back and continue walking, not wanting to appear weak in her eyes. The monarch was not going to bring down her confidence, not in a crucial time like this. 

But just as she took another step, the heat became far too much to bear. She squinted in the light, feeling weaker as the seconds ticked by. No. She could not give up, not now. But she needed a rest, she needed to sit down, just to think.

As calmly as she could muster, she reached for the chair before her. Suddenly, the pattern of the chair swerved before her eyes, her knees painfully hitting the bricks below her. Before she could even figure out what was going on, everything grew black. 

The Queen turned to look at the unconscious Prime Minister, fanning herself lightly and completely indifferent to the heat. "Oh.." she sighed, more in annoyance rather than concern. It was not even that hot and now her whole garden party was ruined. Everyone around her was shocked, rushing over to see if the politician was alright. Denis was the first to reach her. "It looks like the Iron Lady has keeled over.* Could you go see to her?" She asked one of the guards. 

"Maggie? Maggie!" Denis called out, gently shaking Thatcher awake. 

"Bring her to the shade." The Queen responded tiredly, as if she was used to such a procedure. "Heat exhaustion. Not at all uncommon, especially with children. Come on," She called out, allowing her guards to help carry Thatcher. 

The rest of the guests stood in hesitation, chattering in both worry and excitement behind their fans. They did not know whether they would have to leave or stay. 

"Well?" The Queen asked, turning from Thatcher to face them "The party's not over yet. Mrs Thatcher will be just fine." 

 Sure enough, Thatcher awoke to find her head on Denis' lap. Her husband smiled at her in relief, "You're awake, old girl! I'm so glad. Are you alright? You gave us all a bit of a scare back there, you know."

Embarrassingly, Thatcher quickly sat up, hurriedly fixing up her hair that was out of place from lying down for so long. "Oh for goodness' sakes." She moaned in dismay "How long was I asleep for? This is incredibly humiliating!" Realising that she was still within ear's reach, she attempted to lower her voice, but by then it was too late. The Queen was standing before her. She held a cup in her hand of the most expensive china. 

"I knew you'd be fine." The younger woman responded, offering the cup to Thatcher. "Just a classic case of heat exhaustion. I find frequent exercise and tea very beneficial for one's health. Drink this, you'll feel better." 

As the light fell on her face, her complexion appeared more pale, almost porcelain. Her lips in contrast became redder and more noticeable. To add to Thatcher's embarrassment, she looked all the more beautiful. 

But that was enough. It was bad enough to faint before such a great woman, but it was even worse that she was treating her like a child. Embarrassment was quickly replaced by anger. Who was _she_ to tell her what was better for _her_ health? She had risen above the ranks of a civilian, the _Prime Minister_ of a nation, not a child who had done something wrong. Memories of a rigid childhood with constant rules and lectures came to mind, memories that she had thought she had escaped from when leaving Grantham. 

"I _will_ be fine." Thatcher responded quickly, pushing the tea cup away from her. Fury pulsed through her veins, and before she could stop herself, it had transmitted into physical strength. The tea cup shot away from her hand, landing directly onto the bricks below. With a distinct shatter, the fine china broke into several pieces.  

Suddenly, the monarch's eyes were filled with the same exasperation. 

"You…" The Queen began, the tone in her voice difficult to distinguish. 

Thatcher gulped as she realised the damaged she had caused. Instinctively she began to apologise.

"Oh god…I-" But realising how condescending the other's gaze was, she held it back. This was what had gotten her in this situation in the first place, "You shouldn't have held that so closely!" She shouted. 

"This…this is an irreplaceable china!" The Queen shot back. "An heirloom from several generations!" Yet after a few moments something in her manner changed. She had grown calm, relaxed. Or perhaps she was better at hiding her anger than the Prime Minister. 

"Well, there's nothing we can do about it now. It's broken." She patted Thatcher's shoulder in forgiveness, "I see you are very clumsy, Mrs Thatcher. I hope you are not as clumsy when running the country." 

Thatcher looked back at her in surprise, her eyes wide. Suddenly she had felt so guilty about breaking the cup. But at the same time, she had wanted to retort after such a remark. _No. Don't let her win_ she decided _, That's only what she wants._

"We can pay back for the cup?" Denis offered awkwardly "We are truly sorry." 

"No, all is done." The Queen responded dismissively. Although her hand was still on her shoulder, the look in her eyes was far from forgiveness. She looked down at the shattered pieces near her feet. "Someone has to clean this up before another accident happens." She responded, standing up. Then, she was off again to alert a maid. 

Thatcher sighed. It was her fault, but never did she want to say that. To admit fault was foolish. It was all the monarch had wanted, after all. 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

"It was a disaster, Denis! I never want to be in the same room with her again!" The Prime Minister threw her hat down on the floor in dismay, too distracted to aim it exactly on the hook. 

Her husband was sitting on the couch, looking up from his evening paper. "Relax, Maggie. Everyone has had heat exhaustion." 

She glared at him, her eyes blazing. "Everyone?! Everyone? Why not Her Majesty herself!" Now that she thought of it, the Queen did seem far more healthier. 

Denis got up from his place and went over to take her hands in his. He smiled at her, his eyes full of quiet understanding as always. Whenever he had done this, this calmed her immediately. No words were needed. Thatcher sighed.  

"Oh what am I going to do? She won't ever let this down. If only that wretched woman had not held the cup so closely to me..." A gentle caressing of the fingers caused her to lose train of thought. She couldn't remember what she was complaining about, but this only lasted for a moment. 

"Come on old girl." Denis said encouragingly "Go and have a bath. It will do you a world of good." 

"Oh alright." Thatcher grumbled, pulling out from his grasp. Wearily, she made her way up the stairs and then into the bathroom. As she undressed and then got into the water, she tried to push this afternoon's sequence of events from her mind. But try as she might, whatever issues she had thought of linked back to the monarch. 

_Damn you, Elizabeth._ Thatcher thought crossly, trying to lie down and get in a more comfortable position. Even though the water had helped soothe her physically, it did nothing to ease her troubled mind. She had loathed baths. They were a waste of time. She would have preferred to be working on parliamentary work, rather than lazing about in the water. 

*

Eyes closed, she felt someone touch her shoulder. It was so light that she could have easily ignored it. But as soon as she had tried to forget about it, finger tips brushed against her naked shoulders. It could have been Denis who had come in to surprise her, but the fingers were softer, more delicate. Yet what had made such a gesture more sinful was the fact that she had recognised it so well. It was unmistakably like the gloved hand that had touched her on the shoulder back in the garden party. Gradually, they made their way towards her chest, caressing her breasts. Red lips kissed her cheeks lightly, although she was sure that there was more behind such a lady-like gesture. Even though her eyes were closed, she could recall the fair, regal face that stared at her, lit up by the hot sun. She gasped, trying to stop herself, but the hands continued towards more unspeakable areas. Just for a few moments, she allowed herself the pleasure. 

*

A loud knock on the door caused her jolt with a start, eyes wide. 

"Maggie! Is everything alright in there?"

Elation was quickly replaced with revulsion as she briefly cleaned herself up before getting out and wrapping herself in a towel.

"Yes, I would be fine without the interruption!" She shouted back, hurriedly dressing herself. Thatcher was thankful for the way the steam had fogged up the mirror, for she could not see how flushed she had looked; it would merely remind her of her shameful fantasy. Quickly she unplugged the bath. A wave of guilt washed over her. What she had imagined was completely unheard of. She loved Denis most. There was no way that she would have such feelings for someone so above her, let alone a woman! She stopped herself from that thought: No. Elizabeth could not be better than her. She earned the leadership. _I deserve this just as much as she does._ Thatcher thought firmly. Yet there was still so much doubt. She was sure that she had despised that woman with every inch of her being, yet if she did…what in the world were those imaginings about in the bath? 

Denis was sitting on the bed reading a book as his wife walked in. He looked up at her briefly, smiling. But at that moment, she realised what she had to do. She needed to forget about whatever was on her mind was minutes ago. She walked towards him, slowly untying the sash and allowing it to fall as a silky puddle around her feet. Denis watched as she climbed onto the bed, although, more like leap, as she pushed him down, kissing him roughly on the mouth. Startled, he let go of his book, causing it to fall onto the floor. Taking her head in his hands he reciprocated immediately without question. He was amazed by his wife's energy and rather aroused, although he did not get a chance to ask what had put her in such a mood. It was rare to see her behave in such a manner so he let her completely dominate him as he enjoyed watching her dominate so many other men in Parliament during debates. 

Once both were exhausted and Denis was asleep, the Prime Minister rolled over on her side, the activity leaving her tired but satisfied. But as soon as she closed her eyes, there was no escape from the red lips and the gloved hands that left her with more pleasure than she wished to admit. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Weeks soon turned to months as Thatcher avoided the Queen as much as possible. She turned her mind to her duties, suppressing any urges that continued to creep back. They had not spoken since. Westminster was buzzing with activity as the Prime Minister spoke eloquently against the Opposition. As she walked out of Parliament, her entourage of members followed her with as much loyalty as faithful dogs. She allowed them to, even to debate and quibble amongst themselves. So long as it served as a distraction from the sinful thoughts that were threatening to emerge. Although many liberals were despising her policies and threatening to expose her, her history was too clean. 

But they had no idea what great, dirty secret the Iron Lady had kept  locked away in her mind. And as try as they might, they would never discover it. She was grateful for this, but still she was not satisfied. While parliament duties had kept her preoccupied from anything else during the day, she was left alone too long to herself during nights. 

Yet with determination, she had torn out every newspaper page which related to the monarch, hoping that the flames would burn away any trace of her from her memory. Whenever the Queen appeared on television, she would quickly switch the channel, or turn it off. Thatcher had even taken to working from late into the night until the bleak hours of dawn.* 

However as Denis came into the house with the mail one day, she knew that she could not hide away from her forever. 

"Maggie! Look what's come for you!" Promptly, he handed her an envelope that was only made from the finest paper. She gingerly opened the envelope and unfolded the letter. It was another invitation. 

"No." Thatcher responded, throwing the letter down on the table. "I am not going to another dreaded garden party."

Denis quickly picked up the dropped letter and inspected it carefully. "Oh Maggie, it's not a garden party…it sounds like it's been held indoors this time!" 

Thatcher rolled her eyes, "I really, really doubt that." But when she was about to turn away, Denis held the letter in front of her. Annoyed, she re-read it quickly. Her husband was right. It was a special dinner. 

"Why can't you go? It will be great. And if you don't want her to give you grief, I'll be by your side. We can take on her together." 

She smiled at her husband's loyalty and complete obliviousness. "You're right, Denis." The words came out easily, but each lie felt like she was sipping poison, "I can't turn down an occasion like this. I am Prime Minister, after all." She pulled him into an embrace, smiling, yet he could not see how full of fear her eyes looked from behind. Perhaps, like everyone else, he would never know. 

Before the day arrived, Thatcher decided to approach this differently. She was a master at hiding her emotions now, and she refused to let this woman control her. She was still going to be dedicated to the monarchy, but she was going to be much tougher. More prepared. Less angry. In her first days of government, she had sounded shrill and was not taken seriously at all. Yet since then, she had changed. And now, she was going to prove herself to the Queen, and to the nation. Nothing was going to stop her this time. 

Even thought Denis had no idea what she was thinking, she did not mind. Because she was going to take on the Queen herself. 


	6. Chapter 6

"She dances like she has two left feet."  

Holding a glass of champagne, Denis sniggered at his wife's remark. Although both found it so amusing, they knew that it was a lie. The Queen twirled with ease and elegance that seemed like something out of a fairytale book. Thatcher rolled her eyes, before turning back to see if any of her cabinet colleagues were around. She needed a distraction, but to her dismay, she remembered that they were probably not important enough to attend such an event. 

Picking up her own glass of champagne and taking another sip, she wished that she could have something stronger. It amused her to think that the Queen only offered her champagne. _Do you not know what I am capable of?_ Thatcher wondered, her eyes finding their way back to the dancing monarch and her husband. The rest of the guests were dancing, but Elizabeth outshone them all. They might as well have just been running and shouting like apes instead. The whole sight was incredibly embarrassing, but Thatcher could not look away.  

There was no escape. Instinctively, Thatcher grabbed Denis by the arm and dragged him to the centre of the ballroom. Confused, Denis almost spilled his drink on his tuxedo but could not get away. 

"Margaret! What is the meaning of this?" 

"Shut up." Thatcher muttered angrily, wishing that he had not exclaimed so loudly, "And take my waist. We'll show Elizabeth what we're _really_ made of."

Denis chuckled nervously, realising that all the attention was on them now, "I don't think this is such a good idea, Maggie. What if you make a mistake? The press would grill you for it!" 

"They won't." Thatcher replied firmly, fighting against the urge to kick him in the shins, "Because we won't make any mistakes. Now do as I say."

Without another word, Denis obeyed, awkwardly following his wife's moves as she danced. Although it had been years since she had done ballroom dancing at Oxford, her memory was still so sharp and she danced with almost as much ease as the monarch did. Now that the audience had no longer looked at the Queen, Elizabeth was startled to realise that the show had been taken over by the Prime Minister. 

"My word." She whispered to her husband, "Look what she's doing. She doesn't even know how to dance."

"Bloody brilliant to me." The Prince responded. With a blank expression, she had stepped onto his foot, causing him to wince in pain, "I mean bloody painful.." He added hastily. 

Thatcher was smiling now. She had briefly looked over Denis' shoulder to see the Queen glare at her in response as she danced. But now she was starting to pick up her pace. The Prince was now spinning her around even faster. 

With horror, Thatcher looked back at the audience of people. They had quickly lost interest in the Prime Minister's seemingly easier dance moves and were focussed on the royal couple once more. She pulled Denis by the hand and made them dance even faster, more in beat with the music. It was more mechanical now, like clockwork compared to the royal couple's dance, but quickly becoming more powerful. As if her feet were on fire, the Queen quickened her movements, gathering more support. There were a few cheers in the audience. 

Denis's face was paling with exhaustion and Thatcher began to feel concerned, but she needed to win. She looked back at him with sympathetic eyes, _Please Denis, don't give up now_. She begged internally. Oh how she hated begging. When had she ever had to beg? No, she deserved it. She deserved the attention. 

With all of her fierce might, she continued, and even though Denis's movements were becoming weaker, she began to move herself, spinning more and more out of control. The cheers in the audience now became roars. Finally, she fell straight into her husband's arms.

Defeated, the Queen smiled grimly at the panting politician. Only when the guests had reverted back to chattering and entertaining amongst themselves did she approach her. "Congratulations, Margaret. Whenever did you learn to dance like that?"  

"Oxford." Thatcher shot back, grinning widely "Brilliant, aren't we? Denis and I are very big fans of ballroom dancing. It comes naturally to us." 

"It is a skill that takes some practice." The Queen replied primly, not wanting to give her the pleasure. But then she had decided to play this game a little differently. A gloved hand touched Thatcher's shoulder again, "However, there is one thing…" She leaned close to her ear, lowering her voice to a whisper, "You may have come undone." 

Then she was off, leaving Thatcher self-consciously reaching for the zip of her dress, worried that she may have shown a little more than just her talent. Her cheeks began to burn, but only when the Queen had left the room, did she get the chance to fully explode. She dragged a worn looking Denis away with her to the corridor. 

"Why didn't you tell me?!" Thatcher screeched.

Denis looked baffled. "I don't know what you are talking about…"

"My dress, that's what! Why didn't you zip it up?! Did you not see?" 

He looked apologetic. Gently, he took her hands, looking up into her eyes for forgiveness. "I am really sorry. I got a little too carried away with the dance." But then his expression relaxed, "Tell, me…are you not proud of what we had shown her tonight?"

"Well of course Denis," Thatcher huffed, "But it's not over yet. We have to continue. Now let's head to the dining room. I want to give her a piece of my mind." 

With gusto, Thatcher strode into the dining room, with poor Denis struggling to keep up with her. They both took their seats, the Queen waiting for them expectantly.  

"So good of you to join us." Elizabeth announced. "You both must be quite tired after that dance. It's a good thing we didn't do the tango, or the Iron Lady would probably keel all over again." 

Several members of the table laughed loudly. Thatcher tried to grin in response, to show that she was not at all offended by her words. But the sides of her mouth were starting to hurt. Why had she brought that up for?

"The tango is far too risqué for our tastes." Thatcher replied, sitting up straight, "Denis and I only have energy for things that _truly_ matter." 

The Queen looked somewhat startled at the response, but she kept her emotions mostly well-hidden, "Oh yes. But it's a shame you don't have energy for anything else. Prime Minister, you must know by now that people like change. We can't _only_ do ballroom dancing if it is the safest option now, can we?" She smiled, scrutinising the politician's face as if inspecting an insect under a microscope. "I do love change, don't you?" 

"Funny how you talk about change." Thatcher retorted, raising her voice slightly, "When you are in charge of an institution that heavily relies on tradition. Your Majesty, tradition is what keeps everything in check. Surely _you_ must know that." 

The table had become silent. Thinking that she had won, Thatcher started to eat. Everyone else followed suit. The Queen went back to her plate, deciding that it was probably too meaningless to quarrel further. She did not want to entertain Thatcher any longer. That loathsome woman can wait a whole lifetime for an answer and she would not care. In fact, she realised that she probably did not care at all. 

Once the night was over, tired guests made their ways home. The Thatchers too, had climbed into the car and were about to also head home to bed. A cool breeze swept through the door and she instinctively looked for her coat to put it on. But to her dismay, she remembered that she had left it behind in the palace.  

"I'll get it Denis." She said dismissively, just as soon as he suggested to fetch it for her. 

Shivering in the cold, she darted into the corridor, thankful to be in the warmth once more. Her coat was still hanging on the hall stand and she put it on at once. But just as she was about to go back outside to face the cold again, a chorus of laughs stopped her. 

From the dining room, she still heard some voices talking. The door was only slightly ajar. Curious, she went to investigate whatever was causing all of the fuss. 

The Queen was still seated, with a few good friends around the table. "Oh I have a good one!" She cried, grinning from ear to ear. Then, she begun to utter words that were so familiar to her…in a posh voice that unfortunately she could identify with.

" _Funny how you talk about change, when you are in charge of an institution that heavily relies on tradition. Your Majesty, tradition is what keeps everything in check."_ Standing up, the younger woman pretended to sway with faintness " _Oh dear lord. The heat is too much for my Tory body. Help me, Denis."_ Shaking slightly, the monarch pretended to fall forward and collapse dramatically in her chair. 

Laughter filled the room, but there was one person who was listening who did not find this display at all amusing. She wanted to push the door open and scream at her, but she stopped herself. No. She would not give her what she had wanted. 

As Thatcher walked back outside and towards the car, she had a new purpose in mind. If the Queen was insistent on tarnishing her name, she was going to do the same…but even better.

Because just like this evening's dance, Thatcher was going to outperform her once again. 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Thatcher had noticed that the Queen had recently been keeping company with another man. Whether or not he had worked for her, it did not matter. If the Queen wanted to say slanderous things about her, two can play the game. 

Quickly, she had befriended important members of the media, inviting them over for dinners at Downing Street, whenever she had the chance to socialise. A man who had controlled much of the press seemed to be of considerable interest to her.* One evening, they had agreed to meet up in her office once everyone had left. She did not want anyone else to know about her connections with him. If she could play this right, everything would work to her favour.

"Mr?"

"Call me Rupert." The man responded with a grin, "Now Prime Minister…what can I do for you at this late of an hour?" 

The woman raised her eyebrows at his odd accent. "Rupert. Before I tell you what the matter is, I must get your full agreement to keep this confidential. We never had this conversation, is that understood?" 

"Understood, Prime Minister." He gave Thatcher a large smile. She was indeed very attractive for a politician and if she was going to offer something that was to be a secret, he was going to be a very lucky man that night. As she walked towards her desk, he admired her figure, wondering what she would look like out of that conservative skirt suit. 

But Thatcher would not have it. She ignored his glances. "Rupert. I have a story which your readers will enjoy immensely. It involves a very, very important public figure."

Rupert raised his eyebrows, "A politician?"

"No, Rupert…Her Majesty herself."

The man gave a cry of delight, clapping his hands. "Splendid! Splendid! What do you have to tell me about her?" 

Thatcher rose from her seat, much to the man's delight. "Do you know of the man that she's been going for walk with these days? Quite a dishy sort."

"Her speechwriter?" Rupert asked in surprise, "Oh but Prime Minister, they always go for strolls to help her recite."  

"Yes…but what if there is more than just strolling?" She leaned close to whisper in his ear "You must know, as a journalist that one has to make a few…alterations to the truth…"  

He felt a rush of excitement as he heard those words, with her breath so close to him. "Oh yes, Prime Minister." Greedily, he moved a hand towards her waist. 

But quickly, she moved away, disappointing him, "If you can't print this story for me, well I'll probably lose all my popularity over this nonsense of the beloved royals."

He started to laugh, "Are you really that desperate to stay?" He asked her, moving close and looking at her directly in the eye. "Don't worry, you are very popular with the conservatives."

Suddenly, he felt his back against the wall and her hands against his chest. "Then, you _will_ do this for me, won't you?" Thatcher asked. He was breathing heavily now. It astonished her with how easily it was to manipulate some men. A wicked smile curled on her lips. But before he could make any advances, she pulled away. "Come now, I'm very busy. Make a decision and we will say no more about it."

"You know, Prime Minister…I've thought of just the thing that will keep you in power for a long, long time." 

*

The Queen could not believe what she was reading in the paper. "An affair with my speechwriter?! An affair? What is this madness?" She asked her maid. She then continued to read " _It sounds like the Royal Family are getting up to some of the most unroyal things_." She would have laughed if she wasn't so annoyed. "What poppycock!" 

But nobody could figure out what was going on. The press had suddenly taken such a firm stance against her and it left her puzzled. Everything printed was a blatant lie. Yet as she turned back to the front cover, she noticed the Iron Lady's face looking back at her. 

She frowned. Of course. If there was one person competing with her, it would have to be _that_ woman.* Yet she was not going to lose her temper. She calmly put the newspaper on the tray for the maid to dispose of. 

"Meredith…why don't you bring in my secretary? I'm thinking of hosting another dinner party." This time, she was going to confront the Prime Minister. Something like this could not go on. 


	8. Chapter 8

At the dinner party, the Queen was alert. As soon as she spotted the Prime Minister, she grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into another room so that they were out of earshot. The Queen then slammed the door after her. 

Before Thatcher could ask what in the world was going on, the monarch was glaring at her.

"What _is_ your problem?!" She hissed, holding up the newspaper so that Thatcher could see the headline.  _Unroyal affairs_  shouted out at her, the letters so stark and ugly against the clean white sheet of the paper, "I can't believe you have sunken so low…despite how hard you had worked to get there."

Thatcher laughed in her face, not even bothering to deny her participation in the scheme, "Don't pretend like you care…you have no idea how hard I worked for this leadership. I got there without your help. By myself. I don't need you or anyone else to help me." 

The brunette put her hands on her hips. Despite looking dismayed, she still looked determined and more powerful. "You may have cost me my reputation," She said bitterly "But I will not retaliate. You have won now, Margaret. And I am so so ashamed that it had to come to this…we could have had more than this…"

At those words, Thatcher paused. Her attention was now fully seized. It was what she had never expected the Queen to say, and most of all, it was what she would have longed for her to say. But it was a joke, a cruel, tasteless joke which had made her impression of her appear as harmless as a child's laughter in the playground. "What?!" She gasped, "What are you blabbering about?". Memories that were buried ages ago were stirring, threatening to emerge back into her consciousness. 

A hand touched her on the shoulder and she flinched, remembering the touch that had first gave her such unsavoury thoughts. "Don't." She muttered, pulling away. Even though her tone was so cold, there was a bit of a tremble to her voice. 

But the monarch refused to give up. She had moved closer, although she kept her hands by her side. "What is the matter? Why are you so upset?" It was so unlike Thatcher to behave in such a manner. Usually, she would have not cared to be touched, but now she had avoided her as if she was the plague. 

"Get away from me." Thatcher begged, her teary eyes downcast.

At that point, the Queen continued to prod her. There was something more to her motives, but the Iron Lady had refused to let her see them. Perhaps it had something to do with Denis…but the Thatchers had always remained so close. And there was no way that politics would have made her this distraught. Even if politics were the reason, it made no sense as to why she had tried to attack the Royal family. She then decided to try again. She placed a hand back on her shoulder.

"You have so many supporters. Why did you have to convince the media a lie to get more recognition?" 

Thatcher shivered, although she wasn't entirely sure if it was repulsion or something else. Quickly, she spun around, her blue eyes sparkling in tears. The feelings were out now, and there was nothing to do about them. Everything had slowed down and her own body began to act against her will. Roughly, she grabbed at the Queen's hand and planted a kiss on the glove. 

"You see now?" Thatcher choked, "You see why I had to hate you? Because…I love you too much, Elizabeth…and you will destroy me." The words tumbled out quicker than she had wanted and she wanted to run straight out of the room in embarrassment. She had kissed her leadership away. 

Even though she was sure that the Queen would have recoiled in disgust, she had stayed in place. 

"You love me?" Elizabeth asked in surprise. Such a thought never came across her mind, but although she did not expect this from anyone, especially not from another woman, she gave a small smile. "I am really flattered." She said kindly. Thatcher still had her back towards her, furiously trying to wipe away her tears. She hated herself for giving away far too much and she was sure that she was going to be treated terribly by the media now. 

"Well go on. Add this to your mockery of me to your friends. I'm sure they'll love it at dinner parties. Go and tell the press. I'm no longer a threat to you." Thatcher responded, her voice reverting back to the same detached tone that it had before. If this was the way she was going to lose everything, so be it. 

Upon realising that Thatcher had overheard her impression of her, she felt guilty. She also could not help but find it slightly amusing that something like that would push the politician to do something so damaging, "It was only a joke, Margaret. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings…I'm sorry." 

"But you don't feel the same." The politician sighed scornfully, "I _know_ you don't." 

The Queen took her hand gently and to her surprise kissed it lightly. Thatcher looked back at her in confusion, but the Queen had casually let go of her hand and calmly continued to talk. 

"Are you always this negative about everything?" She asked with a smirk. But Thatcher knew that the next thing she said was going to answer her disappointment. "How I feel about you doesn't matter, Margaret. But how the public will feel about the both of us will." Walking over to the shelf nearby, she took hold of a picture of herself with the prince. "I could never leave my husband behind." She continued, "And I could never leave behind my nation either. If we continued on this path, we would lose all the support of everyone from both sides." 

Every word the monarch had spoken was the truth. Despite the fact that feeling was mutual, there was no way that either of them would get away with this without scandal. It would damage both of their careers and their reputations. They both had the same goal, but were completely different people with different ways of achieving it. Whether they had inherited their role through familial ties or through countless debates, neither woman could lose their title. The younger, rebellious generation who were fast siding with the Queen would certainly not approve of her joining with their conservative, old-fashioned leader, just as the older Tories would disapprove of such a relationship between such powerful people.  

And Denis, oh poor Denis. Thatcher could never leave him behind. She still had a family to take care of, as well as a nation. But knowing that the Queen had felt the same but chose not to go any further with that hurt. She had shown her a side that she had tried so hard to hide from everyone, even from her husband, and now she felt too exposed. 

"If I can't be with you, I refuse to see you." Thatcher replied, crossing her arms. She had hardened, refusing to let herself cry again, "Maybe it's for the best."

"Yes, maybe it is." The Queen replied, just as coldly.

 

And like that, the two had parted ways. 

*

The next day Thatcher began to pack to head in preparation for her trip abroad with the EU. She had turned her attention to the more important matters of the nation. Never, was she going to waste another minute thinking about something that was going to eat her up. But then she realised that there was one more thing she still had to do…


	9. Chapter 9

Queen Elizabeth sat at her dressing table, powdering her face in preparation for hosting this evening's event until a knock at the door caused her to pause. 

"Come in."

A footman was holding a small box. "I found it addressed to you. Hand delivered."

"Who delivered it? Did you see who had left it behind?" The Queen asked in confusion, going back to finish her makeup. 

"No, Your Majesty. The box is unsigned. They left before the guards could see them."

"Thank you, you may leave." She responded, indicating for him to give her some space. The footman left immediately, knowing that whatever was in the box was not his to know.

Still with elegance, the monarch cut the tape and then opened the box. Among all of the newspaper was something very delicate wrapped inside. She lifted up the small parcel and continued to unwrap it. 

As the last shreds of newspaper had fallen away, an expensive teacup made of the finest china lay in her hands. She scrutinised it carefully, wondering where she had seen such a teacup before. It had looked so familiar to her, but she could not figure out where she had seen it before. Perhaps it was given to her by a loyal fan, or maybe it was left there by mistake. Yet whoever had left behind the package was on a plane, probably miles away from England by now. 

Something about the teacup unnerved her, but she had decided to keep it. Perhaps she would understand it better one day. Right now, she had a duty that she had to perform for her and her people.  A little scandal written in the paper would not be strong enough to deter her from her path.  


	10. Epilogue

A large audience gathered in black as a coffin draped in a union jack was carried out by many men to be buried. Even though so many people had celebrated her death, there were still many loyal admirers who wept as the Iron Lady was no more. 

Queen Elizabeth, even after several years, was still agile as she stood in the cold, watching the procession. Another great leader had gone from this world, one that had no doubt changed Britain forever. But she did not weep. The last time they had met had given crucial signs of what was going to be Mrs Thatcher's fate. 

The last time they had met, Thatcher was no longer in power. Although slightly older that the Queen, she was unsteady on her feet, slouched with age as she shook her hand one last time. Her helmet hairstyle, which had still stood prominently around her face, could not hide how old and powerless she had become. She could not even debate like how she used to. She was more polite and softer with age, totally different to the Thatcher that the Queen had strongly despised. 

It was a sad sight, seeing her just like that. Elizabeth decided to focus on thoughts of a happier time. And as she watched the coffin being carried away, she did. 

Although many had called her uncompromising, cold and harsh, the Queen realised how transparent the former Prime Minister really was. After they had vowed to never speak again, they still met now and then, although both had avoided ever mentioning of their feelings for one another again. She recalled from even the first time they had met, how Thatcher had curtseyed way too low and had looked completely bashful, realising her mistake. She remembered the awkward glances the woman would give her, and how she would quickly disguise them with a look of disapproval and how she had tried so hard to go against her…even from that moment when she had smashed what seemed to be an irreplaceable cup.

_We could have had more than this..._

Those words, her words, now seemed to carry more meaning now than she had remembered. She wondered to herself how things might have been different if they were friends, or more than friends.

An image came to mind. The same ballroom that Thatcher had tried to outperform her many years ago was empty. Only the two most powerful women occupied it. The Iron Lady under the light of many chandeliers looked nervous and slightly different in a dress like her own. In the past, Thatcher had always refused to coordinate outfits with her, but in this situation, a figment of Elizabeth's imagination, Thatcher had finally given in.  

Shyly, she approached the monarch. "What if someone sees us?" She asked nervously. With such uncharacteristic timidity Thatcher seemed more like an inexperienced schoolgirl, rather than a middle-aged politician.  

"My servants are off duty for tonight." Elizabeth responded without a trace of worry in her voice, "Now come on. You're the one who keeps trying to show off your ball dancing skills."

"I do not!" Thatcher retorted. Before she could protest any further, Elizabeth smiled at her softly, a smile which showed that she did not judge her as much as she thought she did. It was all of the reassurance that she needed. The politician relaxed, smiling a smile that was rather beautiful. 

 As the monarch placed a hand on her shoulder, Thatcher shook slightly and with some hesitation, gingerly placed a hand on her waist. Linking hands, they pulled in close and began to sway to the music. It was amusing to see Thatcher so uneasy on her feet for a change, and nowhere near as controlling as she had always been. Once the music had died down, she could hear the Prime Minister breathing loudly and quickly as she edged closer and with a gloved hand to her face, melted the Iron Lady at once with a gentle kiss.  

It was such a beautiful time. But the thought faded as quickly as it had come. The moment under the many chandeliers between two women was not real. None of it was, except for the feelings that came with it. Yet as she remembered the way Thatcher had sobbed. She remembered the way her eyes sparkled before she planted that kiss to her hand, revealing all her secrets to her and breaking that cold, hard exterior that most knew her for. With this image in mind of Thatcher's frankness and love for her, Elizabeth realised that the Prime Minister would have agreed with her. She would have loved to experience such a thing, to dance with her alone and without a single worry. Yet it was completely impossible, especially now. 

And now, she remembered. She knew exactly where that teacup had come from. The china teacup that was left on the steps was an imitation, but it was almost like the cup that she had destroyed. Despite all her flaws, Thatcher seemed willing to change things around, even if she refused to admit it…but it seemed as if she had forgotten all about that as she spoke to her in their last meeting. In her old, fragile state, the former Prime Minister looked confused and then frustrated, until finally Thatcher's carer had to lead her away, leaving the Queen bewildered in mid sentence. Yet perhaps it was for the best. 

Now was not a time for tears. She would certainly not give her the pleasure. With a stiff smile, the monarch placed a single rose onto the coffin and then left. None of that mattered anymore. 

No, not a time for tears. As she walked away from the crowd clad in black, she knew that it was a time for new beginnings and for doing what she always did. Doing the duty that the ambitious woman she had loved had also done.   
  


Her duty to the nation. 

**Author's Note:**

> *Footnotes for historical explanations: 
> 
> “It looks like the Iron Lady has keeled over”: This was based off a quote that the Queen apparently said in relation to Thatcher collapsing from heat exhaustion during not one, but two outdoor events. Whether or not this incident happened is debatable, although it is amusing to imagine. It was also rumored that the Queen did impressions of the Iron Lady. 
> 
> “Thatcher had even taken to working from late into the night until the bleak hours of dawn”: The former Prime Minister did have the habit of working at such late hours. It was also said that she only had four hours of sleep. Yet this habit was actually developed when she was first campaigning in order to have enough time to commute from her area to London. 
> 
> “A man who had controlled much of the press seemed to be of considerable interest to her”: Although I did not refer to him properly, this was meant to be Rupert Murdoch, a powerful businessman who is in charge of quite a few organisations of the media. Apparently he was good friends with Thatcher was said to write stories against the Royal Family during her time in power, although this is can be disputed. The scenario and relationship I have illustrated in this story, I can confirm, is entirely fictional. 
> 
> “That woman”: This was based off a quote that was rumored to be said by the Queen in reference to Thatcher. It was said that the two never really got along during their younger years, but did become closer as they grew older and spent less time with each other.


End file.
